


Bright

by Lacertae



Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Child Death, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:04:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1404112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Sandy-centric, gen*</p>
<p>Fill for the RotG Kink Meme.</p>
<p>The Sandman brings dreams to children in order to chase away the shadows, and keeps silent so they won't wake up. There are, however, kids he wishes he could wake up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright

**Author's Note:**

> First thing I wrote for this fandom, so please be lenient with me. :) Written as a drabble for the kink meme. http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/3036.html?thread=6759644#cmt6759644

Dreams are bright.

Their light shines in the night, visible only to those with keen eye, glowing into the darkness and spurring minds on. The sand absorbs the dreams, strengthens the connection between the wish and the mind of the dreamer, and then buries the seed deeply inside, for the kids to grow on their own.

Rooted dreams shine the strongest, and when one is ripen (when the kid is on the edge of adulthood, of moving past that invisible veil that separates childhood from growing up, and their dreams are ready to blossom, creating a path for the kid to follow even where Sandman cannot) the dreamsand burns with the light of dozen stars, reminding Sandy of a time where travelling from planet to planet was all his life.

The brightness is what gives him hope, because he can’t reach those who don’t believe, so he can’t make sure they are ok, but seeing their dreams shine so bright is a reassurance.

Not all dreams have the same intensity though, and Sandman, in his thousand nights spent giving children the seeds to make their wishes come true, has learned to distinguish which are taking root and which are only flickering by and will soon come to pass, changing until the kid has finally found their path.

Some dreams have a faint, pale glow, that Sandy compares to the soft, pleasant light coming from high above, the moon where Tsar Lunar resides. Some other dreams glow of a golden, heartfelt light, and those are the ones Sandy likes to poke and prod the most, until they blossom into beautiful flowers.

Each dream is a wish that one day might be granted, if the person who nurtures it has the strength to reach out for it.

Some dreams, though, get snuffed out –they die, they turn into blackness, they can’t find root or they get rejected, until Sandy recalls the dreamsand to him and absorbs them back, letting the dreams return to their maker.

Such is the one Sandy is observing.

If one of the Guardians happened to pass by, they would find it hard to see the usual happy, cheerful Sandman in the spirit hovering above the city, his expression blank and his eyes full of sorrow.

The flickering dream that his sand is carrying is faint, and faltering. Sandman gently brushes his fingers against it, feels the sand melt into his skin, and the dream flutters through his body and into his mind, delicate like a flower slowly losing its petals.

It tastes of days spent outside in the field, of sun warm on skin, of birds chirping and a dog running in a field of flowers, but it’s so dulled now, tiny and weak.

It’s withered, and Sandy’s grim expression is slowly schooled back into a neutral one as he lets the dream go, and it floats around him. He has to go now, there’s not much time left, and he’s never been late before.

He looks down at the platform of sand that he’s seated on, and with a sweeping motion of one short arm, the composition shifts, grows around him, curls into the shape of a car.

The glittery sand forms four wheels, then the doors, then the seats and the steering wheel, and as an extra touch, he forms a pair of sturdy gloves on his fingers.

He looks out from the front mirror, adjusts the safety belt, and then silently makes his way down, guiding his sand car through the air on his personal, reserved road.

On occasion, a kid still awake will look out of their room and catch a strand of golden dust left behind, and the rekindled flame of belief soothes the pain Sandy feels inside his chest, where his heart, his core, is.

The building is silent as he parks in mid-air in front of him, glancing at every window until he finds the right one, the sand within his grasp nudging forwards, trying to reach the person it’s connected to. Sandy follows it, dispelling the car into nothing and floating through an opened window.

The room is dark, and silent, the only noise a low, quiet beeping sound that leaves no echo. There is a kid in the bed, and Sandy has to pause on the windowsill, because the sight is hurtful.

He glances out of the window at the moon, only to find it blocked by a thick cloud barrier. The night has darkened up, and there is nobody else but him and the little girl.

He steers his attention back inside, on the too small frame in a bed bigger than her, and on the machines surrounding the bed, tubs and threads connecting life to machine. The kid’s sleep is light, her breathing shallow, her cheeks reflecting a pallor that matches the faint glow of her little, vanishing dream.

He swallows, no sound coming from him as he bounces into the room, and yet the figure on the bed moves, and her eyes flutter open, taking so much time and fighting a losing battle, until they are peering at him from under long eyelashes, barely enough strength to keep them open just this much.

Her lips part, dry and patched, and her voice is no louder than a whisper, but Sandy is good at reading lips and dreams, and he sees his own name spoken in the silence, so he nods quietly, and closes the remaining distance between himself and the little girl, bringing his sand with him and making it twirl in front of the girl, at an angle she will be able to see.

She smiles, a soft rosy tone dusting her cheeks as she forces her eyes to open just a bit more, looking at Sandy, and he smiles back, his expression now completely different from before.

His smile is bright and honest, his entire being conveying to the little girl that he’s happy, and that he’s here for her, and it takes nothing for more figures to dance in the dark, glowing their golden light and playing for her in the silence of the room, until she’s quietly giggling, revealing a missing tooth that is probably safe now, in a place that will hold the memory of this girl until the far future, never to be forgotten.

Sandman doesn’t move too close –he won’t touch a kid, it’s simply not possible, the only contact that can exist is by proxy with his sand– but he keeps the girl’s attention on him, and dances along with his sandy figures, losing himself as he plays for the little girl until she’s wheezing and happy and the beeping sounds are hidden away by his own beating heart.

He claps his hands, making no sound, and the sand curls closer to the girl, caressing her feverish skin and tickling her fingers, brushing against her side like a cat seeking attention.

She’s drowsy now, and Sandy can see it. Her eyes are steadily drooping, her little body too small to hold all that happiness, already too tired because of the sickness eating her away.

She never looks away from him, her lips murmuring a soft ‘thank you’, and Sandy glows bright, brighter than the sun, brighter than the moon, he calls forth this little girl’s dream and lets it blossom through him until it’s so bright the entire room is devoured, and there are no more shadows.

The sand scatters and explodes in a quiet boom, falling like sparkly snowflakes on the girl’s face, and she looks so happy, without pain, without fatigue, just the bright golden light and her dream growing stronger for her alone.

Her eyes fall close, her body limp on the bed, her last sight the glorious burning dream that Sandy created for her, and slowly she lets herself go, quietly slipping from the light where no harm can catch her anymore.

Her lips relax, but she’s still smiling, lost within the dream until she’s gone, and no dream can follow her there, not even the Sandman.

The beeping sound is an unending single note that breaks the silence and shatters their short, precious bubble.

Sandy is left alone in the room, and the glow of the dream inside him flickers and grows dim, dimmer, the darkness returns in the room, and then he watches that little dream compress tightly into a small pebble of sand.

As he reaches forth to collect it, the now grey sand disintegrates in his fingers.

Sandman straightens his back, and takes a deep breath. There are golden tears on his cheeks, but he’s still smiling, because he owes it to this little girl and her dream that couldn’t be.

Little kids die all the time, he knows that, but the pain is always fresh, always too sharp, for you can never accept to lose such bright futures to the depths of a never ending night, and Sandman might be old, but maybe that makes such passing even more bitter.

With a flicker of his arm, he’s back outside, sailing above the city, sailing where there is no living soul, above the clouds, seeking a pale silvery light that will wash away the sorrow of a lost life that no amount of time will ever make disappear.

He needs a moment for himself, because no matter how long he’s lived, no matter how much he’s learned, this isn’t something that is easily accepted.

He smiled for the girl, like he’s smiled for all the thousands before her, and like he’ll smile for the thousands that will come after her, but now he doesn’t have to be strong for them, because he’s the bringer of dreams and dreams can die, and kids can die too, and it is unfair to watch them go, but at least he can make their passing a little less painful, a little less dark.

He wishes he could soothe her parents, but the adults won’t believe dreams for a long, long time, and they were already disillusioned even before. He cannot reach them, and the notion is once again a pang of pain within him.

The moon shines brightly for him, a silent message unrolling itself until it reaches him, a cone of light that covers Sandman’s body, and the moonlight rays flutter to him, speaking their tongue for him to understand, as his old friend offers him words of understanding and companionship.

The sky around him is silent, and Sandman is silent too as he cries, for he cannot wake children, even though sometimes there are children he wishes he could wake up again. His body is shaking, and the tears drop down like golden jewels, but he lets the Moon’s soothing plea to wrap around him, to soothe him as he mourns for one little light less in the world, because he can’t do anything more than that.

Sandman looks down, to the thousand kids that still deserve to keep on wishing, to keep on dreaming, and takes a deep breath, bathed in moonlight and feeling his old friend’s warmth spread into him.

He wipes his tears messily, licks his lips, and smiles again, lets his mind wander to the dreamsand surrounding him, to the beauty of the dreams that he's yet to offer to kids.

There is still so much to do, smiles to bring, darkness to chase away...

He is not at peace, and will never be, but his work continues on, past the horizon, chasing the night and keeping children safe, as much as he can.

The Sandman bids farewell to the Man in the Moon, turns to the South, and this time his sand shapes itself like a boat, carrying him sailing through the sky, to new kids, to kids that tomorrow will still wake up.

 


End file.
